


A Study in Trust

by Calculatrice



Category: Magic Kaito, 名探偵コナン | Detective Conan | Case Closed
Genre: Dreams, Friendship, Introspection, M/M, Trust, inspired by all the fanart of them just falling, seriously be warned, so much introspection holy shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 15:07:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13192695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calculatrice/pseuds/Calculatrice
Summary: Conan swallows anger and condemnation and, for the very first time, gives Kaitou KID the benefit of the doubt.________________In which Conan constantly has to revise what he thinks of a certain thief, and is frankly getting pretty sick of feeling like his subconscious is already ahead of him.





	A Study in Trust

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for DC up to the Scarlet Showdown, as well as the third movie.

There’s a dream, a recurring dream, that’s been haunting his nights for the past several months.

It is so obviously a dream, so obviously an unreality, but like for so many of Conan’s other dreams it only becomes obvious once he’s woken up, once he’s no longer the prey of the fears and desires of his subconscious.

He first has the dream after the arrest of Tanaka Kikue, after a night spent isolated and feverish high up on a snowy mountain with seven people depending on him to find a killer, even if they didn’t know it. The night he meets again with Phantom Thief KID, his white suit glowing like his namesake in the dark of the hours before sunrise.

“I’m no detective and you were sick in bed,” KID says. “What could we do?”

It’s such a flippant response that Conan should be furious at their loss being treated so carelessly, as if finding the murderer excuses the cadaver they left, this isn’t some botched heist with a lifeless jewel as the prize-

But he’s already learned that to deal with KID he has to watch closely, to listen well, because the thief isn’t going to hand over anything easy. So, he narrows his eyes and looks past flippancy to catch the real regret that briefly tightens KID’s jaw, remembers the look of eagerness and elation on Doito Katsuki’s face as he carefully shot a crossbow to Conan’s exact specifications to expose the culprit.

Maybe it isn’t enough to form any conclusion, to give plausible intent and humanity to the thief that casually throws endless tricks before taking to the skies, but at the very least…

Conan swallows anger and condemnation and, for the very first time, gives Kaitou KID the benefit of the doubt.

And for the first time that same night, long after he’d watched a hang-glider until it’d disappeared, he dreams that he is falling.

Quietly, high up in inky blackness, he falls. Far, far below him the burning bridge continues to blaze and though it had cut fear deep into his heart and seared his skin when he’d raced across it, it’s insignificant. Falling as he is, uncontrollably fast with the wind roaring in his ears, the bridge can neither save nor doom him, and means nothing to him now. Still, Conan is still gripped with urgency, doesn’t want to crash through the bridge and into the abyss below, so he tries to reach out, in the air, as if he can grasp the strings of the atmosphere itself and hold himself steady. His world stutters when a white-gloved hand reaches in return, inches away but a _possibility,_ and distantly he hears a voice call, alight with the same sentiment.

“What could _we_ do?”  


* * *

 

 

Water laps gently at the walls of the old mansion as it finally begins to recede slowly back into the trick pond. The Detective Boys are entertaining themselves by singing loudly over the soothing sound to an indulgent Haibara, and Conan keeps a silent vigil over the tied-up woman laying prone on the old, cracked tiles of the roof.

Inevitably, he thinks back to the hang-glider he’d once again watched disappear, with the difference this time being that he’d foregone even an attempt at capture, even if it were as small as to flip open the cap of his watch. Repeatedly saving several seven-year olds from Samizu Kichiemon’s idea of a practical joke was no small feat, and Conan had been so grateful and so conscious of just how much that meant he owed, that he hadn’t hesitated. It had made sense at the time, trading escape for help. But now, listening to Genta, Ayumi and Mitsuhiko stumble through the chorus of Two-Mix’s latest song, Conan can’t help but wonder about the equity of the trade. Did stepping away truly cover the lives of his friends?

And what exactly is debt, when it’s to a criminal? Ever since he could walk he’d known that _crime_ meant that in order to gain something, one essentially allowed their freedom to live peacefully in society, their freedom to coexist with others who trusted the law, to be revoked. As he grew older, he learned about things like _motive_ and _repentance_ and _first_ versus _second degree_ and made sure to temper his judgement, but the baseline was the same. Surely reinstating that freedom, if only temporarily, was valuable enough to balance just about _anything_ out. Priceless, to criminals.

Therein lay the problem – criminal _._ International jewel thief 1412, Phantom Thief KID, doesn’t seem to register to him as one. A nuisance, certainly. A menace and a waste of police resources, absolutely. But someone who betrays the trust in the consensus known as law solely for personal gain? Not quite, which, Conan thinks, tugging at his hair, is as frustrating as it is ridiculous. It doesn’t change the fact that Conan’s going to catch him once and for all and feed him some goddamned humble pie, but means that in personal exchanges like this, he isn’t simply speaking as a detective to a _criminal._

So, what are they?

He doesn’t know.

He clenches his fists and decides it doesn’t matter, because he’s not going to owe KID anything ever again, any kind of personal exchange is irrelevant as long as he doesn’t ever get any help from him again and just watches his own.

 _“A thief with a heart of gold,”_ He remembers Haibara saying, and promptly ignores the memory as well as the disquieting fact that he hadn’t asked for KID’s help before the thief had given it to him, of his own free and perplexing will.

That night he’s falling again, except this time everything above him is water. He falls away from its surface into an endless sky as though he’s falling from the bottom of the earth, and fear grips his heart at the thought of falling into and ending in nothing as droplets of not-rain fall on his face. From the deep blue expanse of water stretched irrationally above him a snowy figure emerges, his top hat and cape irritatingly familiar. KID draws close to him, barely two inches away, and Conan can see nearly every detail - the slight part of his lips, the scratches on his monocle, the strong shoulder supports for his hang-glider, the wild brown hair under the silk brim of his hat. Though his eyes remain hazy Conan is sure KID must be watching him, waiting for something from him, but neither breaks the stalemate, and they continue to fall.

(When he wakes up he’s uneasy, because the first word that came to mind was _equals,_ but surely, surely it can’t be-)

 

* * *

 

 

In the soft, blue-white light of the streetlamps, Conan watches the absurd sight of what looks like himself slowly being covered in more and more gently cooing birds. Idly, he wonders if KID is trying to make him laugh or just piss him off, and figures it’s probably a bit of both, along with another agenda entirely. He elects not to mention it.

As he steadily lays out everything he’d gleaned of Maria’s final years, Natsumi’s lineage and KID’s intentions, a part of him is still reeling in shock at the implications of what he’d found. KID had orchestrated a heist and willingly grabbed the attention of a _named_ sniper just to return a treasure to a stranger who didn’t even know it was hers by right, all while keeping her heritage out of public knowledge. This goes beyond simply being kind or generous, and Conan wonders just how many times KID is going to surprise him.

“There are some things in this world better left as mysteries,” KID says, voice carefully light, but there is a tenseness in it that sounds like a warning. Conan feels a stirring of irritation – as if he would expose someone’s over-complicated ancestry for his own satisfaction, how callous did KID think he was?

“Truly,” Conan replies firmly, and KID’s shoulders relax, “this is one mystery better off left as it is.”

A small scorch mark on the side of Conan’s wrist catches his eye, and he remembers coughing smoke as Scorpion was lifted from the ground, remembers the sharp yell of _Conan-kun!_ when Conan’d hesitated, staring at a buried card being licked by flames, and remembers the hiss of _you reckless idiot_ before “Shiratori” packed an unconscious Seiran Hoshi into a car, and Conan just _let him go-_

“Then, I wonder if you can solve this one, great detective,” KID’s call pulls Conan out of his thoughts, and he wonders if he hears affection in the nickname. “Why would I come here in the form of Kudo Shinichi…” The third-person address doesn’t escape him, he’s filled with relief at the fact that KID is choosing to be vague, choosing to leave his knowledge of Edogawa Conan’s secret unacknowledged.

“…And help you, my annoying rival?”

Conan blinks – was that even a question? – when Ran calls his name, and a familiar guilt wells in his stomach before KID disappears in a swirl of white feathers. Despite himself, he feels the corners of his mouth tug upwards as he catches one between his fingers, thinking back to the dove in his hotel room who’d been rebandaged overnight by an expert hand that could be neither his nor Ran’s.

It’s almost funny how easy it is to assume KID helped someone sworn to arrest him just because they’d amateurly nursed one of his many assistants. With every encounter, KID is becoming less unfathomable and more outright ridiculous, and Conan wants to hate it because this is no longer a case of the benefit of the doubt or any outstanding debt he just-

He _believes_ in KID. Had thought _there’s no way he’s dead_ when the phantom had fallen from the sky, had breathed a sigh of relief when “Shiratori’s” silhouette had appeared in the castle, and had just _known_ that there was no ulterior motive behind returning the Memories Egg to Natsumi. And KID had never asked him to, had never dropped his veil of mystery even an inch, and most likely doesn’t even know now how much faith Conan has in him. Conan’s been pulled in completely through nothing but whole-hearted action.

So, Conan resigns himself, and at night when he’s falling again as he has been for many nights before this one, he’s unsurprised to find himself surrounded by dozens of pale doves. They flit gently around him, sometimes diving alongside him before flapping their wings and pulling upwards so easily they may as well be taunting him. But he can’t bring himself to be angry, not when their peaceful coos and fluttering feathers cut through the roaring in his ears and almost calm him. A familiar dove perches precariously on his chest even as he speeds downwards, and he frowns at the frayed end of a bandage come loose. He’s stretching a hand up to tuck it back into place when he feels warmth enveloping his back and sees a gloved hand reaching past him, towards his own, fingers moving as if to-

He doesn’t let himself think too long on this one, on the flush he can feel in his cheeks when he wakes up, and most certainly doesn’t dwell on the fact that when he tries to go back to sleep, he finds himself missing the ghost of the thief’s warmth.

 

* * *

 

 

Haibara storms into the house, one hand clamped tightly around Conan’s wrist as she kicks off her shoes and impatiently waits for him to do the same. He’s barely toed them off when she jerks him forward again, past the kitchen and into the living room where she shoves him on to the couch. Behind him, he hears Agasa shutting the door very quietly, as if scared of drawing attention to himself.

“Don’t. Move.” She hisses furiously at him. Conan nods quickly. He has no idea why Haibara is so incensed, why the tension in Agasa’s beetle had steadily mounted to suffocating heights as they dropped off the Detective Boys one by one. All he knows is that Haibara pissed is terrifying, and he is _not_ crossing her without good reason.

Conan shifts uncomfortably in his seat, and shoots Agasa a questioning look. The professor just shrugs in return, looking confused. He hears a crash from Haibara’s room that thankfully does not sound like guns or knives, and she emerges carrying a stethoscope and a sphygmomanometer, looking grimly determined.

And Conan understands.

He relaxes into the cushions, lets Haibara push his arm into the cuff of the sphygmomanometer and pump it so it tightens around his bicep, and takes steady breaths as it slowly expands. Haibara is silent, flitting her eyes back and forth from him to the reader for several seconds before she takes the cuff off, and puts the instrument aside.

“Lift your shirt,” she commands, putting her stethoscope in her ears. Conan complies, and she presses its cool monitor to his chest. He follows the pattern of the familiar routine – two deep breaths, in and out, Haibara moves the stethoscope, two deep breaths, in and out. Finally, she takes the stethoscope from where it’d been pressed to his back and lets it fall with a clatter to the coffee table. She looks at him for a moment as if preparing herself to say something, but then her mouth tightens, and she simply rests her face in her hands.

“Haibara…?” Conan is hesitant. Haibara lets go of a long sigh before she finally looks up.

“Kaitou KID knows about you,” she states simply.

“He does,” agrees Conan readily. He’s starting to guess where this is going, but he waits before giving his input.

“You trust that he doesn’t want to hurt anyone,” she continues, and this time his mouth twists a little before he nods. She narrows her eyes at him.

“Then tell him to stop _tasing children_ ,” she growls at him, and Conan clenches his teeth to stop himself from flinching away. “For your ‘one criminal exception’, he seems to be the one who’s come closest to killing you. Your heart is _half_ the size of his!”

“He probably lowered the voltage and tested it beforehand,” Conan tells her what he’d been telling himself since it happened. He rubs at the marks near the base of his neck, trying not to remember the pure fear that had rent through him at the sound of crackling electricity. KID planned to perfection, surely, he’d prepared for this too.

Haibara’s eyes still burn with rage. “Do you really think,” she murmurs, low and dangerous, “that your body is just like any other seven-year old’s?”

Conan bites hard into his lip. It stings like betrayal.

“Through what benign method does he think you shrank? A witch? Movements in the cosmos? God damn it, your heart has forcefully reconstructed itself _several times,_ ” she spits, and suddenly Haibara’s face screws up with something like grief.

“Don’t think I ever forget what that toxin was supposed to do,” she whispers quietly. “Don’t think I don’t remember how burning from the inside out _felt._ ” Conan’s eyes widen, and he grips her shoulder in alarm. Haibara’s never brought this up willingly, and it speaks volumes of how much this incident has shaken her.

Haibara squeezes his hand, and it’s a welcome brace against the cold unease that spreads through his veins. The dreadful feeling when he’d first lay burning on the grass in an amusement park, the absolute certainty he was going to die from either pain or poison; they’re things Haibara understands, and he takes comfort in her hand on his.

Haibara looks much calmer when she pulls away.

“Tell him, _warn_ him,” she says nevertheless, her face grave and insistent. Her nose scrunches, and with finality she adds, “if he's going to kill you, at least make sure it’s not an _accident.”_

 

 

Later, as Conan lies awake and thoroughly exhausted in his futon at the Mouris’, he hears a soft tapping against the window. He sits up, fully expecting to see perhaps a dove waiting with some pre-printed apologetic courtesy note, likely in elegant calligraphy on creamy card stock. He’s completely taken by surprise when the Phantom Thief himself grins at him from a suddenly open window, moonlight streaming in from behind him. KID quietly enters, and the curtains fall back into place, plunging the room back into its darkness.

Kaitou KID is a bare metre away from him, and if Conan strains his ears he can hear his breathing. The experience is beyond bizarre, and a silence stretches for several seconds as he tries to come to terms with the situation.

“KID,” Conan says a little uncertainly, then clears his throat. “I don’t see a note or jewel here,” he continues with renewed dryness, raising an eyebrow at what he can see of the thief’s face in the dark. He debates turning on the night vision function of his glasses, but he quickly dismisses the idea. This obviously isn’t a heist situation, and he may as well save the battery.

After a beat, KID answers him. “Do pardon my negligence of the usual procedure,” he replies, smooth and formal as always, with the ever-present underlying hint of amusement. “But I felt that this was a visit that required some haste.”

Suddenly, he drops the breezy undertone, and KID’s voice becomes unexpectedly low and serious.

“I’m sorry,” KID confesses without hesitation. “I thought I’d considered everything, but when I thought about your iden- your circumstances,” he backtracks momentarily when Conan tenses, “I realised I don’t really know enough _to_ consider everything. In the end, I’m not sure how safe today’s heist was, and it would be one thing if it was just me, but it was _your_ safety that was compromised.” The thief moves a little closer, shifting Conan’s blanket.

“Again, I’m sorry,” he says softly.

Conan is reeling.

He doesn’t recognise the sincere tone, the straightforward language. When he looks at the thief’s face, he doesn’t even spy a smirk. He feels frozen where he sits, his heart beating a mile a minute, because this…

This isn’t KID. This isn’t the untouchable phantom, the smirking menace who’s evaded capture for _decades._ This is someone painfully human, concerned for someone he feels he’d wronged and unhesitant in facing and owning up to his mistakes. This is someone caring and unwilling to take an easy out, likely the root of KID’s stupid nobleness. This is someone dropping his impenetrable mask to speak freely and sincerely, risking his precious secret identity to make sure that Conan _trusts_ his apology.

This is KID under the façade, in his breathtakingly real entirety, and Conan doesn’t know what to do with him.

“I.” Conan’s throat is distressingly dry, and he swallows several times as fast as he can, because he isn’t going to cold-shoulder KID after _that._ “I see,” he finally manages, inclining his head and thanking every god that a kid’s voice doesn’t break nearly as easily as a teenager’s. “As long as you don’t do it again, idiot.” He says, renewing his usual, disgruntled tone.

KID smiles, open and warm without any of his usual edge, and Conan’s heart stutters at the sight of him.

“Of course, tantei-kun,” KID affirms, voice so genuinely full of relief and honest happiness that Conan’s mind is blanking, and he doesn’t know how to deal with this and just needs KID to leave _right now._

Thankfully, KID retreats from Conan’s blanket without prompting, and when he blinks the thief’s already back at the open window. He tips his hat, smile full of mischief once more. “Then, I do depart…”

KID disappears in a flutter of dark curtains, and Conan’s breath hitches as dozens of rue flowers float gently to the floor, scattered everywhere and glowing ghostly white in the thin streams of moonlight. His heart is still a fluttering drum in his rib cage when he flops defeatedly back on to his futon, almost wishing KID had just sent a dove. Sure, it would have been impersonal and ineffective, but at least Conan would have been spared this disconcerting _shift._

When he finally falls asleep, he’s completely unsurprised that the sky is sparking lightning as he falls alongside KID. KID’s smile, however, still startles him, and he watches the sight helplessly as KID keeps his face close to his own the entire time they fall. 

 

* * *

 

One day, it’s with a jerk that Conan realises that despite having dreamt the same scene dozens of times, he can’t recall what form he’s in as he falls.

It’s unsettling – even in his nightmares, he’s painfully aware of himself. As Shinichi, he’s hunted, and all too often he feels a blinding pain as he’s struck down and forced to watch, blood dripping into his eyes, as everyone he loves is killed one by one. As Conan, it’s much the same, except that there no one needs strike him down – Gin grips the back of his neck and his wrists, and his pathetic strength always fails him as he fruitlessly tries to struggle away.

It’s unsettling, that he doesn’t know in the case of these particular dreams. Even more unsettling, however, is the part of him that whispers that with KID, it doesn’t matter.

 

* * *

 

Conan sighs in relief as he finally hangs up the phone. He owes it to Jodie to keep her posted on what he knows of Vermouth’s movements, and the conversation this time wasn’t exactly complicated - Vermouth spoke to someone she knew as Sharon Vineyard, he didn’t meet her himself, she probably had something to do with the exploding train car, he thinks They might have killed off a traitor operative, no, he really didn’t meet her himself, he’ll call if something happens…

The phone call marks the last of the Mystery Train’s immediate aftermath to deal with. His lips quirk upwards, and he feels so satisfied he almost wants to hum. The Black Org thinks Sherry is dead, Okiya Subaru is back to perfecting his curry, and there’s even the possibility that Bourbon may not be as dangerous as he first thought. Conan’s never one to get complacent, but he lets himself enjoy the overdue victory, especially when it means that Haibara goes to school looking more at peace than she has in months.

Scrolling through his messages, he comes across the one sent to him from his throw-away sim’s number, some minutes after he’d gotten off the train.

_> :(  >:(  >:(  >:(  >:( _

He supposes it’s pretty justified. ‘Be careful of explosives’ doesn’t exactly adequately warn someone against being stuck in an entire train car full of them. Still, if there’s one thing about KID Conan has unshakeable trust in, it’s his ability to escape from anything. The message makes him smile, too. It’s proof that everyone he involved in this convoluted misadventure came out of it okay, even the person with the least information and preparation for the most dangerous situation available. And that’s… uplifting, to say the least.

Though, he can’t help but chuckle as he looks at it. What a childish message, befitting a, well, _kid._

“Good to know my displeasure amuses you so,” says a dry voice that nearly makes him jump out of his skin.

Conan tamps down firmly on the urge to clutch at his chest like some second-rate soap opera star, but he can’t hold back small gasp. Flushing in embarrassment, he glares balefully at the new silhouette in his window.

“Do you _enjoy_ breaking into private homes for no reason?” Conan hisses at the phantom thief casually brushing off his sleeves in the Kudo mansion’s sitting room.

“I thought there was a new tenant living here,” KID replies absently, ignoring Conan’s question with another one. He looks around at the light spots on the wall where Conan’s old picture frames used to dwell.

“Subaru _-niisan,_ ” he stresses the address, seeing KID’s lip curl a little at the sugar in his voice, “is out of town attending a talk he thought would be helpful for his classes.” Specifically, a talk on dystopian literature being conducted by a rather uninspiring speaker which, _coincidentally_ , has one FBI agent James Black in attendance. Truly, it’s a small world.

At that, KID pauses in examining a small porcelain figure on the mantlepiece that Yukiko had left as a housewarming gift.

“Right, because that guy’s a graduate student,” KID says, sounding perfectly unconvinced. “A graduate student who handed me an earpiece and told me exactly what to say to a man – sorry, _operative_ \- with a gun pointed at me.” KID turns to look at him, unimpressed. Conan can see him raising an eyebrow even above the monocle.

Conan sighs and drops back to a lower register; KID’s being _overt_ now. “He’s a… family friend.”

“I remember seeing a rifle bag.”

“Didn’t I say _family_ friend?”

“My, tantei-kun, was that a joke?” KID looks delighted, lips raising back into his trademark smirk. Conan rolls his eyes, but doesn’t answer. Knowing KID, directly asking him why he’s here is pointless, but Conan isn’t going to let himself be led in circles. He searches for something that’ll prod the conversation forward. He brought up the tenant, so maybe…

“Do you need something from Subaru-san?” he tries. KID frowns and tilts his head, looking theatrically puzzled.

“Why would I need something from him?” A measured pause, then- “After all, he wasn’t the one who sent me into a train carriage full of explosives.”

“I know that you, of all people, are able to-” Conan cuts himself off midway through an irritated retort, feeling himself blush again.

 “Me, of all people?” KID prods expectantly after a moment of un-breached silence. Conan doesn’t reply, cursing himself endlessly inside his mind. It looks as though KID expected this, however, because he doesn’t wait long before he speaks up again.

“You know, as I was preparing Miyano Shiho,” KID starts in a foreboding drawl. “I had some time to talk to your Subaru-san.”

Conan’s heart speeds up slightly, but he makes himself stay calm. Akai would never say something compromising during an operation, especially not to someone he’d just met.

“He seemed impressed that I was there I guess – probably impressed at your plan.”

It seems harmless, so far. (Conan resolutely ignores the part of himself that wants to preen)

“But the interesting part, hmm.” Conan stiffens; KID is obviously dragging this out on purpose, the _bastard_. “It was probably when he talked about making the plan. Specifically, when he said…”

KID clears his throat unnecessarily loudly, and Conan doesn’t even flinch when Okiya Subaru’s voice, calm and genteel, comes out of his mouth.

_“Conan-kun didn’t hesitate to include you in this plan, you know. He decided you were the best option the moment he read the paper, and didn’t doubt you’d agree. I wondered, a little, at enlisting a jewel thief, yet here you are.”_

Conan winces harder with every word, and KID smiles winningly. Judging by the line of Akai’s mini-monologue, Conan already knows what’s coming next, and he’s swearing mentally even before KID strikes the last blow.

_“To make you the linchpin in his plan, he must have an extraordinary amount of trust in you.”_

God, he knew he should have spoken to Akai about what was and wasn’t okay to mention to the thief! And refreshed him on the mission etiquette he’d apparently forgotten while he was “dead” – the middle of an operation with him and Haibara’s lives in balance wasn’t the time or place to be sharing deductions about Conan’s _feelings_!

KID is still grinning like a Cheshire cat. Conan tries his best to downplay it; _damage control, damage control._

“I’ve been to your heists, idiot,” he grumbles, weakly. “There are few people who can make a perfect disguise, and fewer still who can believably fake their own death in front of a… professional.”

“The _linchpin_ , tantei-kun!” KID exclaims, back to his own, insufferably smug voice. “Besides, I don’t see anyone from my taskforce putting me in high stakes operations. Or are you going to say it wasn’t all that important?”

It’s obviously a challenge. Conan doesn’t _quite_ know what he’s going to say, but he knows he needs KID to stop looking so smug and expectant, so he opens his mouth and-

Stops.

Because he _can’t._ He still remembers Subaru’s fingers ruffling his hair as he flashed him a distinctly Akai-like smirk, the precious few seconds he’d turned the collar off to say, _“This was our win, boy.”_ Still remembers his mother beaming at him afterwards and squeezing him in a long and tight hug, whispering _“Call me again when you need help, okay Shin-chan?”_

And Haibara, hunted before the two of them had even met, smiling softly and looking more relaxed than Conan’d ever seen her as Ayumi clung to her arm.

One of his closest friends is finally safe, and _Sherry_ is gone once and for all.

The silence stretches, and his indecision must show on his face, because KID’s expression shifts to one of slight concern.

“Tantei-kun?”

KID’s voice strikes Conan with a sudden clarity, throwing light on a realisation that’d been slowly creeping up on him ever since KID first landed on his carpet. Conan knows, now, that he can bring this conversation in circle after circle, shoot unserious jibe after jibe and dance relentlessly around the barest hints of truth and still have KID following his lead. That’s how it’s always been – a series of slow, ineffective exchanges where they poke at each other and don’t budge themselves.

But this time, Conan doesn’t want to do that.

Because KID has already dropped his mask once to give an achingly heartfelt apology, hasn’t tried to hide the fact that this odd back-and-forth between them _means_ something to him, that he’ll protect it when it’s at stake. That he’ll make sure of where they stand.

Now, with his heart still light from a victory with no small part owed to the thief in front of him, Conan thinks that, maybe… he can do the same.

He fixes his gaze firmly on KID, and speaks before his brain has time to hesitate.

“You’re right.”

“Eh?”

“Your help on the Bell Tree Express was,” Conan pauses, thinking back to the emotion that had swelled in his chest when KID had delivered Shiho’s lines to utter perfection. “Invaluable,” he decides.

KID is completely still, his face stuck in an insipid smile that clearly betrays the fact that he’s been taken off guard. Conan swallows apprehensively, because while that was certainly a concession, it wasn’t quite what KID had been leading up to.

“I knew you would help me,” Conan confesses, and his stomach plunges like he’s dreaming. “You- you always do. You pay your debts, and you… you do the right thing.”

“So, thanks,” he finishes, just a touch awkwardly. _I trust you,_ he hopes KID understood.

KID has one hand pulling firmly downwards on the brim of his hat, hiding his expression, but Conan thinks he hears a shaky breath. His gloved fingers curl and uncurl uncertainly.

“Just how many times will you surprise me, meitantei?” KID finally says playfully, but there’s an undercurrent of wonder. Conan blinks at the familiar echo of his own thoughts.

KID’s hand briefly closes into a fist, and when he flicks his wrist outwards a white rose is held delicately between his thumb and forefinger. He bends down to place the rose carefully on the coffee table. When he straightens, the brim of KID’s hat tilts up a little, and Conan flinches when the dim light of the room floods previously indiscernible features. Before he can even think, can see more than _indigo, of course they’d be indigo,_ he shuts his eyes.

It’s irrational, but he’s just admitted that KID’s a good person, which means there might be a reason he shouldn’t be in jail, and it’s just not the right _time_ to get swept off by a clue towards KID’s identity. It’s deeply uncomfortable, cutting off one of his senses with someone barely a few feet away, but he grits his teeth and bears it until KID hopefully gets the message.

From the huff of shaken, disbelieving laughter and a murmured “ _seriously?”,_ he assumes KID does.

He hears quiet steps drawing quickly close and inhales sharply when he feels something warm press against his shoulder. He tentatively opens his eyes and is relieved and startled to see only a white top hat. Conan goes very, very still, his heart skipping a beat.

For a few long moments, they stay like that, KID’s forehead pressed against him, hidden but _close._ When he speaks, his low voice feels like it reverberates in Conan’s rib cage.

“Me too,” KID says, in response to what’s been left unsaid. A hand gently squeezes Conan’s upper arm, and then KID is backing away, away from the chestnut coffee table and back towards the open window, and Conan only watches. KID turns his head only once, says “we’ll see each other again” with a firmness that Conan knows is resolve, and disappears.

Conan collapses back on the couch, legs suddenly as jelly-like as the time he’d touched the ground after having been thrown out of a blimp. The white rose glimmers innocently on his table, full of silent promises and loaded meanings.

It’s only a matter of course that his world glows indigo once he’s asleep, and that KID’s face, fuzzily reconstructed from a few microseconds worth of memory, sports an un-shadowed grin. The fear that permeates his veins during his endless falls is noticeably absent, and instead his hand reaches up, unbidden, to touch KID’s cheek. Warm, _real_ skin greets his fingertips, and KID’s smile only widens as he tilts his head to press closer, closer.

 

* * *

 

 

Conan taps his foot as the elevator rises steadily, looking out towards the shrinking streets below. The other occupant, a stern-looking middle-aged woman, frowns at him in the reflection of the glass, either irritated by his fidgeting or perhaps just confused as to why a child was going to the top floor by himself. Either way, Conan turns to give her the sweetest, sunniest smile he can muster, watching in vague amusement as she visibly melts. They stop on her floor, he gives her a cheerful little wave which she returns a little helplessly, and when she leaves he turns back around and finally lets his face relax. He doesn’t need any well-intentioned adult dragging him off today.

The elevator dings when he reaches the top floor, and Conan hops off from where he was hanging on the rail to walk out. He heads for the emergency door to the roof without any hesitation. He pulls the door open, shoving his hands in his pockets as he steps out into the summer air. A gust of warm wind blows around him like an embrace. It isn’t exactly quiet, but the height makes all the noise from below sound distant and muffled. It’s peaceful, and Conan sighs in contentment.

He’d left Ran and Sonoko at first opportunity, as the latter had already started speaking solely in the highest registers of her voice, reserved for cute boys, cute clothes or both, and Conan wasn’t going to inflict that on his ears for any longer than necessary. No, the two girls had wanted to spend some time in the hotel café, and Conan had immediately asked to go exploring by himself instead.

The fact that they were here for a KID heist happening much later in the evening helped – while Ran had been hesitant, Sonoko had loudly interjected that Conan was much more likely to catch the thief if he was familiar with the “hunting grounds,” or so to speak. Her logic was simple – the higher his chances of success, the higher the chance that she’d be able to meet her idol before the night was up. Under the combined pressure of an over-excited best friend and the imploring eyes of her charge, Ran had caved.

The sun is starting to set, shining through the gaps between the buildings on the horizon and painting them a golden orange. There’s something deeply calming about the sight, and for a while Conan simply looks out, watching everything and noting nothing.

He crouches down to touch hard concrete, pleasantly warm against his fingers from hours baking in the sun. Satisfied, he rolls back on his heels and lets himself fall on his back, feeling heat seep slowly into his clothes. The hard surface is only barely comfortable, but Conan shuts his eyes and spreads his arms and legs out anyway, letting the steady heat relax him until it doesn’t matter.

Sonoko had assumed, after all. He never said _what_ he was going to be doing while he explored. There’s five hours until the heist, and Conan frankly has no interest in trying to take in a detailed account of the entire fifty-story building on foot when he’d already discreetly studied the blueprints that’d been faxed to Kogoro.

He probably looks ridiculous, a child laying spread-eagle on a hotel roof. But, he’s been waiting for moment to himself all day, and the beauty in time spent alone is that no one’s there to care. It’s brilliant. Conan’s only regret is that he’d neglected to bring a book.

A little _thump_ just behind him startles him out of his thoughts. He immediately sits up in alarm, looking around, and sees a teenage boy dressed in black jeans and a black t-shirt, pulling down the brim of a baseball cap and smirking in a way that could only be-

Groaning, Conan flops back down. He doesn’t have the energy for this.

He hears a snort of laughter, and what sounds like KID sitting down behind him.

“I take offense to that,” KID laughs. “Didn’t you come here tonight to catch me?”

Conan checks his watch. “Not for another four hours and forty-five minutes,” he grumbles. “Don’t you have something else to be doing?”

“Not for another four hours and forty-five minutes,” KID cheerfully parrots. Conan rolls his eyes.  

“Didn’t take you as the type to sunbathe,” KID remarks, and from the sound of his voice it seems like he’s lain down as well.

“It’s a nice day,” Conan replies vaguely, shutting his eyes again. “Peaceful.”

KID hums in agreement and, surprisingly, doesn’t say anything else. Conan takes the silence gratefully. It’s oddly easy to relax around KID, to let his soft breathing fade into the background. However, it doesn’t mean that his presence does the same – even as Conan tries to doze, he’s almost hyperaware of body lying behind him. As with many things related to KID, the mismatch is disconcerting.

Although, perhaps it’s for the best that a nap is out of his reach. He doesn’t know what would happen if he dreamed about KID with the person himself only a couple of inches away, but he doesn’t really want to find out.

He’s gotten accustomed to falling in his dreams. The intense feeling of urgency and fear that had featured prominently at their start has all but dissipated completely, so now he’s left with only a vaguely unpleasant sense of helplessness. On some level, he’s aware that they aren’t real, but for some reason when he’s staring at whatever sky his subconscious has chosen for the night, he can’t seem to grasp full lucidity. There’s nothing he can control.

KID always appears in his dreams, sometimes only as a hand or voice, but he’s always there. It’s a touch disturbing, because it’s one thing to spend time thinking about your rival’s motives and it’s another thing entirely to dream about touching his face. There’s probably some convoluted symbolism behind it, Conan hopes.

He doesn’t like to think about it. KID’s presence in his dreams is always frighteningly intimate, and even reflecting it on it afterwards sends a flush to his cheeks. But pinpointing the reason behind it, trying to give a name to the swirling pot of _feelings_ that always comes hand-in-hand with a moonlit thief – they’re things better left for when he’s got fewer things to worry about.

As for his list of things to worry about, well, Conan supposes now is probably a good time to notify the thief of a few key additions.

He clears his throat, feeling suddenly awkward, and he decides that being indirect may be easier for this.

“So,” he starts casually, “the other day I did a little research on snake and insect infused alcohol.”

KID hums in acknowledgement, and Conan takes it as a good sign.

“Snake wine’s the most well-established one, I’m pretty sure. The rest, like scorpions and spiders, are more for people into traditional medicine. Bit superstitious.”

Conan pauses, but KID just hums in response.

“ _Anyway_ ,” he presses, “I don’t really know much about it. But I was talking to Subaru-san about it, since he’s pretty interested in liquor, and he told me he’d help me research.”

KID just hums, _again,_ and Conan sits up as a spike of irritation runs through him.

“You could actually _say_ something, you know,” he’s starting to reproach, but when Conan turns around to look at the thief still lying on the concrete, the rest of the words stop in his throat.

The baseball cap is lying abandoned about a metre away.

Kaitou KID smiles nonchalantly, his face unmasked below Conan’s. Strands of messy brown hair blow gently in the wind, and his smooth skin glows gold in the setting sun rather than the usual moon’s silver. Deep indigo seems to be laughing at him, and something swoops in Conan’s stomach.

“Hi,” KID says impishly, eyes twinkling with mischief that Conan’s never seen before, but knows must be a permanent fixture.

Conan thinks he should be yelling, yet the only thing he can get out is a choked “ _What._ ”

 “There’s really no need to be so roundabout with your updates, tantei-kun,” KID chides, as if he hasn’t just revealed his secret identity to someone literally cited as his killer. “We’re a team now, a team.”

“Y-you…”

“Besides, it sounds like you’ve got a lot to be looking into. I figure I’m probably near the bottom of the list.”

“You’re ridiculous _,”_ Conan snaps, but it’s mostly out of anger at the realisation that KID’s not on the list at all, not anymore.

“But I’m totally right,” KID singsongs, lifting his hands to tuck them smugly behind his head. He grins, excitement lighting his face. “Because you _trust_ me.”

Conan groans and shoves his face in his hands in exasperation.

“…and I trust you! So really, it’s about time I get to look you properly in the eyes.”

Conan looks down at that, and true to his word, KID’s eyes are fixed on his own. His unobscured gaze is scarily intense, and Conan’s ears are burning.

“In all seriousness,” KID says softly, his face sobering, “thank you. You’re, hm, what was the word you used?” KID pretends to frown in concentration. “That’s right, _invaluable.”_

Conan blinks. “I haven’t even done anything yet,” he protests.

“But you will,” KID replies, without a trace of doubt. He reaches up to press his bare fist gently to Conan’s chest. Conan feels a lump in his throat.

It’s odd. He’s spent so much time falling in his dreams and shying away from KID’s encompassing presence, yet now, as he looks down at KID’s open, steady expression, he-

Conan wraps his fingers tightly around KID’s hand, watching as KID’s eyes widen and his cheeks tint red.

And Conan can’t help but laugh, just a little, sitting there holding the hand he’s never managed to grasp in his dreams. Because KID has always been reaching for him, and it was always simply a matter of reaching back.

He’s been falling for so, so long, but Conan knows now that he is _flying._

 

 

 

 

 

_+_

_“I’m Kudo Shinichi,” he says, matter-of-fact and entirely unnecessary, because there’s no way KID doesn’t already know._

_KID’s lips quirk into an amused half-smile. “That you are, Meitantei,” he says, and that’s that._

  

**Author's Note:**

> The material referenced, in order: the Magic Lovers case, the Eccentric Mansion case, the Last Wizard of the Century movie, the Kirin's Horn heist, the Mystery Train arc, and Snake, the bastard from MK. 
> 
> this is the most inconsistent piece of writing I've ever suffered for. _Dreams,_ fucking hell. I hope the convoluted symbolism got through, and that some part of this was actually coherent. Please don't hesitate to point out anything that doesn't make sense, as well as any grammatical errors. 
> 
> As for the scenes: My impression was that KID speaks pretty formally for his gentleman image, when in front of an audience. So, that's there. And um, I have a lot of thoughts on the APTX transformation, which leaked in there through Haibara. Rue flowers and white roses symbolise regret and new beginnings, respectively. Overall, the entire thing is strongly shippy, but it's not so much about falling in love as it is learning to trust and depend on someone who literally has "phantom" in his name, so I hope that came through. 
> 
> Please leave a kudo and/or comment if you liked it!


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